Now I know—Brandon was the carrier and I became the index case of this contagion. I’ve never been much of a car guy. I honestly didn’t even know what a “Defender” was—yet I found myself instantly captivated by its confident air of adventure. There was a shovel and pick axe fastened to his hood; yes, a shovel and pick axe on a hood. This was Indiana Jones’ ride. Like some shady drug-dealing middle man, Brandon told me he “knew a guy” who found and fixed up ex-British military Defenders, and that importing one to the U.S. shouldn’t be a problem... that is, if we followed the precise legal steps that Brandon had painstakingly researched and refined over time. Perhaps it was the raki, but this all sounded perfectly reasonable to me. After all, Brandon isn’t just a Lt. Colonel—he’s a JAG specializing in air and space rights, but a lawyer nonetheless. I mean, surely importing a Defender into the United States couldn’t be as legally complicated as protecting orbit right-ofways for international military satellites, could it? A few days later, we parted ways; Brandon and Julie returned to their home in Germany while our family moved on to India. As time passed, I just couldn’t delete that explicit Rover porn from my memory. I bookmarked Brandon’s Facebook page, and stalked photos of his growing fleet of Landys like a teenage boy with an unhealthy crush. Like some rampant zombie contagion, Brandon had now passed on his brain disorder to me.
Months later, our global circumnavigation complete, our family returned home to Scenic Highway 30A, a hidden strand of quaint beach towns along Florida's Gulf Coast. I’d sold my car before we left on our big trip, so now I found myself in dire need of transportation. My fevered brain craved something uncomfortable, with no air conditioning or reclining seats, or air bags. It demanded a 5-speed manual transmission, preferably on the wrong side, something that permanently reeked of sweat, oil and diesel fumes and consumed hard-to-find parts like breakfast cereal. It should require months of refurbishment, reams of bureaucratic paperwork and some sort of financial partnership with a decent mechanic. You know, something practical. So, I called my bartender. In August 2012, Brandon emailed me the good news. He’d found an old D-90 in great shape, sitting dormant on some European military lot. He emailed me a few glimpses. While it appeared to be surrounded by countless other military vehicles, it looked very much alone, abandoned and forgotten. The scant records showed that it was originally put into Ministry of Defense service on August 29th, 1986 (Registration ID: 61KF77). The last unit it served was the Royal Wessex Yeomanry, an armored regiment of the British Territorial Army. With a 200 Tdi engine under the hood, I was head-over-flip-flops in love. I committed quickly and completely, and like some messed up Match.com mash-up between
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